


The Iron Embrace

by Capucine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Angst, Brother Feels, Complex Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, England is not automatically evil, Fluff and Angst, Gaslighting, M/M, Muteness, Past Abuse, Protectiveness, Sibling Abuse, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5176085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When too much control is taken over anyone's life, they understandably react in different, not usually good ways. Some rebel. Some completely check out of life. Others make rebellion where they can and become pliant where they can't. Survival mechanisms and scars take root in their psyches.</p><p>Countries are not so different from humans in this regard. Wales still has a lot to deal with, and England is not going to make that easy, because doing so would be admitting his fault in the issues that Wales has.</p><p>But the relationship between them is more complex than conqueror and the conquered. Will they be able to navigate a world that has changed drastically since the annexation of Wales?</p><p>The conference is a testing ground for that, whether they are aware of it or not. And things are about to take a dive South.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda got the idea for this story from another Hetalia fanficcer on here. Like, it made some sense to me, the way she wrote it, but...it was just far too melodramatic and purple prose and evil aggressor England for my tastes. Because, frankly, when siblings abuse each other, it's far more complex than one being a demon and the other being a virginal saint.
> 
> Anyway. I hope you enjoy it! England is definitely a dick in this first chapter, be forewarned. :)

Wales did not talk.

This was something that America was quite aware of, had known for a long time. When he was young, the little tiny bit he'd seen of Wales, he'd thought it kind of strange, but had decided that Wales was like an animal—in a good way. He didn't need words, so he didn't use them. He just sat there and gently petted America's hair, a hazy memory among many.

And he hadn't seen Wales for a very, very long time after that, of course. There was no reason to; Wales didn't represent any real power, his right to govern long ago taken away by England.

And so, America hadn't thought much on Wales. Even as the members (or former members) of the Empire and the United Kingdom became more independent, more vocal members of the international community, he didn't think much on Wales, of all people.

But when it came time for a world meeting of sorts—specifically involving minority cultures and preserving them when it came to environmental issues—was to be held in the United Kingdom, specifically in Cardiff, of all places—that was when Wales was remembered.

The strange, silent brother of England. The one who scratched away with a pen and looked too tired to be alive. The one who resembled England the most.

And he was here, at the meeting, apparently in charge of it and a segment of the actual talks.

America didn't know how he was going to pull it off, but he was willing to see him try. Willing to go along with whatever was necessary.

–

New Zealand had always had a soft spot for Wales. The mute-ish brother had been surprisingly close with him, as close as Wales ever had been with Empire-dominated countries outside the British Isles.

Now, they were closer than ever. New Zealand had nearly tackled the slight nation, other nations startled at the display of affection from the normally-fairly-mild island nation. But New Zealand had smiled affectionately at Wales, and said, “How are you? I just saw your poem on your blog—it was really good. The imagery of the dragon was really vivid, and I could feel it—the um, the feeling that everything was--”

“Wales!” Australia nearly tackled the poor nation, who stumbled under his weight. “Hey! How're the sheep?”

Wales smiled ruefully, as if recognizing the potential for an offensive joke and knowing that it wasn't the case—this time. He also looked a bit pained. He gave a quick sign, and New Zealand nearly sighed at that.

Of course, he should have expected it.

“Ha! Don't tell me to fuck off!” Australia said, dazzlingly brilliant grin on his face—if he only was as obsessive as America about his teeth being completely and unnaturally white, he would look astonishingly like him.

Wales gave him a disgruntled look, rolling his eyes.

“He said that you were heavy,” New Zealand supplied, fairly well-versed in BSL. Well, the basics; he liked to say he'd been tainted by NZSL, which was heavily based in BSL but had quite a few differing signs.

That, and Wales seemed to like to pick up signs that only people in his area of Wales used. 

“Pfft, I know that,” Australia said, still grinning. There were exactly three siblings who had bothered to learn enough BSL or BSL-related dialects to understand Wales: New Zealand himself, Australia (though he was nowhere near as proficient as New Zealand, of course), and Scotland.

Wales was grinning at that. He went through hand signs, some finger spelling so they'd get it easier, and expressed that he was excited about the meeting but incredibly nervous. He hadn't presented in front of so many people, especially nations, in a long time.

New Zealand smiled back. “You'll great. You've got that earthy, easy charm people love.”

“Yeah, and you're really adorable!” Australia teased, tweaking his ear.

Wales gave a sort of false huff, asking who was the older one here, thank you? By literally centuries?

That just made Australia give a hoot of laughter, and he promised, “Don't worry, you're also really, really intimidating. I'm shaking in my boots.”

Wales sighed, looking down at his nice sweater. He didn't have what he'd call a current suit, and New Zealand knew that; Wales hated shopping so much, it'd been a nightmare getting him out to get the things he needed in, what, the fifties? That wasn't that long ago in Nation time, but New Zealand could still remember it.

The look like he was being tormented on Wales's face, as they went into the shop. The pleas to go home and forget about this. The expression like he was a martyr when Australia slipped the fifth sweater over his head.

They'd managed to get him laughing again by the end, able to drop by a bakery and get something sweet.

That was about when they'd met England at Wales's home, a visit unexpected—and the disapproving frown clear as he looked at the frosting on Wales's lips.

But that was ages ago, in some ways. Wales was all right.

Look at him now, New Zealand thought, straightening out his bowtie and taking a deep breath.

Almost time, the nation signed at them.

“Scotland'll be helping you, but not more than you need—you know he has a big gift for public speaking, but he won't butt in unless you ask him,” New Zealand said kindly. He patted Wales's shoulder, smiling at him, and he and Australia departed for their seats.

They settled in the plastic chairs, their little placards announcing their names to the room. Australia immediately began to play with his, unable to really sit still all that well.

New Zealand just looked expectantly towards the podium: it was Wales's duty to welcome them to the meeting, and most of the nations were in their seats.

He would do fine, New Zealand was sure.

–

Scotland was watching Wales. Despite the fairly carefree look on his own face, he was worried. He could see the way his brother's hands trembled, the way he kept rearranging papers and such. The pinched little frown he kept trying to smooth away.

“It's going to be okay,” Scotland said, almost conversationally. “The nations know what sign language is, and they've all gone through periods where they've had to have, uh, you know, some kind of aid. Austria was in a wheelchair at one point, and other nations have been dealt worse'n that. It'll be fine.”

Wales gave him that look that said, 'I know you generally tell me the truth, Scotland, but I can't believe that.'

He signed a less obvious answer, expressing that they would think he was strange and he didn't know how he would explain it. Not without... He stalled on the sign.

Scotland sighed. “You don't have to explain anything to the bastards. You don't owe them an explanation, and it's not any of their business. So long as you can get the information across, it doesn't matter, y'ken?”

Wales nodded slowly, unsurely.

God knew that nation had an insecurity _thing_ going on, a sort of inferiority feeling—but maybe not a complex. At least, Scotland hoped it wasn't. What with the whole 'Cymru pride' thing going on, though, he was pretty sure Wales was doing a lot better.

It was time. Both brothers stepped up to the podium.

Wales smiled, a soft thing that seemed to ease even him of his nerves. He gave a nod of acknowledgment to the present nations, and glanced at Scotland.

Scotland gave an abrupt wave. “As you all know, this is Wales, one of the nations of the United Kingdom. I'll be interpreting for him today. All questions should be directed to him, not me.”

A problem they'd run into a few times, with humans. If Scotland was interpreting, humans would often turn their focus to him, start asking him things about Wales as if he wasn't there.

Wales immediately started signing, a good portion of it finger-spelling, especially when it came to foreign words. 

Scotland dutifully spoke. “As we all know, drilling for resources is an issue in our present world. Whether the mining or drilling is for coal, gas, oil, or so on, we have not found a method that doesn't damage the environment.

“This issue has been brought up in my own country. It's believed that drilling into shale rock, many, many kilometers below the surface, could lead to the tapping of a natural gas source. But my question has been, from the beginning, at what cost?

My land has been long scarred by coal mines. Coal mines were the source of local economy for many of my people for much of the Industrial era—and the cost was great. Little care was given for the environment and the slag heaps pocked the countryside. The air tasted bad to breathe. The people died of black lung, or in great mining accidents, very frequently.

In the most important context to this meeting, the rivers ran black with coal dust in some areas. The environment was virtually trashed, and all to power English factories and--”

“Hey!”

The interruption wouldn't normally have bothered Scotland, but Wales froze mid-sign. His green eyes flicked over to England, and his mouth did a little scrunching thing.

“You're not allowed to try to shame people at these sorts of meetings, and you know it!” England said, giving a huff and a glare.

For a moment, Wales wasn't using any signs, just kind of moving nervously. Scotland knew he didn't necessarily enjoy public speaking, and being interrupted, especially negatively, was not easy for him. Among other reasons.

He started again. 

Scotland started interpreting, knowing their brother certainly didn't understand the language; he also refrained from adding his own thoughts. This was something that Wales needed to do.

“It's a fact that the coal primarily went to English enterprise. If you need me to pull up quotes and statistics--”

“Shut up, Scotland!” England snapped hotly. “We don't go pointing out China's destruction of his environment despite the involvement of many of his members of his country, and we don't point out that America is a chief source of deforestation in other countries, do we?”

“That's not related,” Scotland interpreted, seeing the frown on Wales's face.

“You know what's not related? What happened literally over a century ago! Why would you even mention that they were English except to shame me? That's not appropriate behavior for a nation in an official capacity.” England was glaring, but obviously hiding behind the veneer of respectability, of the idea that there were rules Wales had broken.

“Mm, dude...” America started, but England cut him off.

“It would be like someone bringing up slavery in your country in an official meeting about present day issues,” England said sharply, “Though of course, Wales's experiences are a mere trifle compared to that heinousness.”

Wales was starting to breathe a little heavier, but apparently he'd decided to ignore England, continuing on with his speech.

Scotland dutifully interpreted.

“As I was saying, the pulling of resources for another's benefit without concern for the native or local environment--”

“Shut up, Scotland, this is ridiculous!” England snapped, and Scotland could see Wales give a minute flinch at the shouting. He didn't always deal well with loud noises, having associated them with bad things for years.

Scotland was still acting as interpreter, and would keep his tongue—for now. He knew Wales needed to fight his own fights, provided he could.

“What's ridiculous?” Scotland interpreted.

“That! That—that—he's not deaf or mute! He just chooses not to talk and this is fucking ridiculous! Let him—make him talk on his own, or not talk at all! Everyone else does their own talking, and there's no reason he shouldn't!” England was livid, clearly.

Wales seemed to go pale. He shook his head slowly, and signed a bit shakily.

“It's not your business--”

“Scotland! I said stop speaking for him! He has a perfectly capable tongue, voicebox, lungs, and so on! I know he's perfectly fine, and I've _heard_ him speak, so I know he can!” England was glaring at Wales, face a bit red with anger.

He did not like feeling publicly shamed at all.

Scotland clenched his teeth, waiting to see what Wales would do. 

But his poor brother was swallowing, and then swallowing again, looking near tears, face a shamed red, hands clenched together in front of him. 

He seemed to try, then. Mouth opening, then quickly shutting, then opening again.

“Oh, stop it, this is ridiculous!” England practically growled, rather irritably. “Germany, what are the standards for meetings? Who may speak for a nation?”

Germany said, without even looking it up, “A nation must speak for themselves. There are to be no stand-ins for fear of international incident.” He looked a bit grave, almost apologetic.

Scotland couldn't hold his tongue any longer. “It's not the same and you know it! I'm interpreting, not speaking for him! Not a word has been changed, and you can ask Oz and New Zealand if you don't believe me!”

“But there are no provisions for interpreters, are there?” England said, a bit smugly. “And he doesn't even need one. He can speak. It's not a true disability.”

Germany sighed. “Can he speak?”

Wales fidgeted uncomfortably. It made Scotland's blood boil, the way he kept looking down where there had been the spark he had once known, centuries ago, that Wales was only just getting back.

“Fuck you, it's none of your business!” Scotland growled back.

“So he can.” Germany sighed, and when he wasn't contradicted, said, “I'm sorry, but this is unconventional and falls outside the rules.”

“Oh, of course, because it's completely within the rules when America tries to talk and eat or drink at the same time and no one can understand him. It's completely within the rules when people break into fights--” Scotland was cut off by Germany.

“Neither of those things are permitted, and if they happen, they are stopped to the best of our ability. We would need to draft a new rule for Wales.” Germany was looking at him rather sternly, like he was the world's most muscular librarian.

“Wales may continue now, I'm sure,” England said, a sort of irritation in his words, a sort of victory—but the smugness was gone. It had really only been there in facing off with Scotland.

Wales gulped, not even turning to look at Scotland. He was trying, clearly, wanting to put to work all the words he'd planned for this speech, wanting to show that he was neither stupid nor insignificant--

But as his mouth opened, no sound came out, and he seemed to be getting increasingly upset. When, after a couple minutes, he just couldn't force a word out, he buried his face in his hands.

“Well. Apparently, we're moving on. Next speaker,” England said crisply.

Wales looked up in shock, a sort of desperation in his eyes. Scotland knew that look.

He glared at England, saying, “Stop that. Now. That's too far, England.”

“He should have spoken while he had the chance,” England replied, a rather businesslike tone to his voice. “I believe Ecuador is next. Wales, make room at the podium, you can't sit there like a bumpkin if you're not going to--”

Wales abruptly ran from the room, before Scotland could say anything. His posture spoke of feeling small, of feeling trapped, of visions replaying in his mind.

“Hm. I suppose I'll have to take notes for the both of us,” England said. As if he had nothing to do with it.

Scotland gave him a venomous glare. “Fuck you, England. Just, fuck you up the ass with a flaming torch.”

And he stalked from the room after Wales.

He had work to do thanks to England—once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wales's go-to hiding place is a closet--like it has been for a couple centuries or more.

Wales was hiding in a closet when Scotland found him—not surprising, given his tendency to do so as a younger nation. He was behind a dust mop, arms clenched tightly around his knees and obviously trying so hard not to rock but unable to stop. His green eyes widened on seeing Scotland, and he mumbled, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

Scotland sighed. The anger in his veins at England was cooling a bit in the face of his upset brother, and knelt down on one knee into the closet. “Wales, you can't stay in here. You can't let him win.”

“He has won,” Wales almost whispered, eyes going a bit distant. “He always wins. It never changes. I can never change. I'm stupid to think so.”

One part of Scotland wanted to smack sense into Wales—his usual tactic when they were small. The bigger, less stupidly selfish part knew that wouldn't work, only made it worse. He sighed, and squeezed into the space next to Wales with a frown. “Are we going to leave this closet?” Wales shook his head. Scotland sighed. “Didn't think so.”

Wales was quiet—as he often was. He lacked that fire, that passion in his eyes that Scotland had seen time and again—but mostly in the past. When he was composing his poems and songs. When he was fighting for his homeland.

Now, his eyes were quiet, muted. Like some switch had been turned off.

Scotland put a hand on his head, gently brushing his bangs back from his eyes. “You know it's not true, Wales. You know that. Things have changed—changed a lot.”

“Not between me and him—it's been decades since he _really_ did anything! W-why can't I just _be done_ with it?” Wales said softly, seemingly on the verge of tears.

Scotland was quiet. He could understand lingering resentment, but he honestly didn't completely get Wales and England's relationship. No, England did not hit Wales, hadn't in possibly a century, but it was like that threat was ever-present. 

Wales licked his lips as he sniffled loudly, and Scotland could see the scar on the tip—his tongue was fully functional, but one day Wales had been defiantly speaking in Welsh, and England had gotten out the scissors...

And the bastard had the nerve to act like he had nothing to do with it.

Wales shifted against him, suddenly curled against Scotland's side and dust mop nearly hitting the light bulb in the top of the closet as it shifted accordingly. He seemed afraid to do this, as always, and Scotland knew it was because he had been rebuffed—by Scotland himself—in the past.

This time, even as nerves seemed to bubble in Scotland's chest, he wrapped his arm around Wales's shoulders. He wasn't always good at this sort of thing, not at all—but he had to try. Wales was his brother.

Wales was his brother, and god knew few people had ever been there for him before.

–

America was still dumbfounded at what had happened. Like any time he felt something strongly, he had interrupted everyone and everything and Ecuador had yet to present.

“The fuck was that, man? The fuck?” America demanded of England, incredulous.

England's brow crinkled. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Wales doesn't get to circumvent the rules any more than anyone else.”

America frowned. “Come on, you know he doesn't talk! God, you're his brother, you know that! I don't make Canada talk!”

“I can talk, Ame--”

“Well, it's a different situation!” England said coolly back. France seemed to shoot a sympathetic glance at Canada, who looked annoyed at having been talked over.

America tilted his head to the side. “Yeah? How so? He can't _really_ talk, _I_ never heard him! How does it feel, picking on your disabled brother?”

“He is _not_ disabled! He chooses not to talk! Has chosen so for centuries—except when he wants to. If he wanted to, at this meeting, he would. He simply wants attention and sympathy, as always,” England sniffed, green eyes full of anger at America. 

“No one here's heard him talk! You're making shit up!” America, as always, tended to believe that his perspective, his experiences, were everyone's. If he'd never, ever heard Wales talk, then it stood to reason that he simply didn't talk. Case closed.

“Actually...” New Zealand said this, at first voice unsure and a little like he didn't want to admit it, “He can talk. He just,” his voice started to grow in anger, in force, “He can't talk around England, and some other people. And it's not really anyone's business why...is it, England?”

England seemed to almost flinch back at the normally fairly mild nation's accusatory tone. He swallowed a moment, then said stiffly, “You wouldn't understand our relationship. You're not two centuries old, not aware of what the history of nations as old as ourselves is like. Ask France—do you think everything that went down between us was pure peace and bliss? Ask Spain, ask China, ask Russia—we elder ones understand how the world truly works, not you.”

“No, you don't get to play the wise old man card!” New Zealand snapped back, teeth seemingly bared. “What you did--”

“Was certainly tame for the time,” England finished smoothly. “Now, back to the meeting at hand. Ecuador, you had something on...?”

“International incentive to not drill in biodiverse areas,” Ecuador said, a bit uncertainly, like he really, really didn't want to be seen as taking a side.

America could understand that, to an extent. “Hey, how about you guys go to like, family therapy or something? I mean, hundreds of years of living have got to make you a little messed up in the head--”

“Oh? Do you see a shrink, America?” England said dangerously.

Not that America was about to be bothered by it. “Naw. Just thought it might be good to put the past in the past--”

“Hypocrite. Please shut your bloody mouth and let Ecuador present. Ecuador?” England nodded to the South American nation.

He could hear the squeak of a chair as New Zealand abruptly left the room. Not exactly considered the most acceptable behavior—few nations _ever_ left meetings, given the hell that their bosses would give them and international reputations and stuff, but it had happened before.

America frowned, focusing on Ecuador—and pretty quickly tuning it out.

–

New Zealand was seething. He wanted to strangle England—how could he be so callous towards his own brother? How could he have done what he did and then stand back and act uninvolved? Like it was some small mishap? Like the larger sins of others somehow made his okay?

He stalked down the hallway, looking for Wales. He had no doubt that Scotland was with him, but he wanted to comfort him—wanted to remind him that he was cared for, that he could break out of his shell and find himself again.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen the _true_ Wales—the one not hidden by centuries of scar tissue and shields. He wanted to, though. He really wanted to.

He found the pair of them in a broom closet.

The look on Wales's face was miserable as he saw New Zealand, eyes quickly finding the corner of the closet.

Scotland was smoking (indoors and all that—New Zealand had thought he'd quit) and rather lazily stroking his brother's head. His green eyes took in New Zealand, and he gave a nod. “So?”

“England's a bastard.” New Zealand sank down to his knees in front of them, intent on joining them. Scotland started shuffling to the side, but Wales looked unsure. For a moment he hesitated, as if he couldn't bear New Zealand seeing him this way.

“What's new?” Scotland snorted.

He could see Wales squirm at the exhale of smoke—Wales hated that, but New Zealand knew it was sort of their compromise. Sometimes, Scotland needed a smoke to deal with high-emotion stuff—and Wales wasn't going to die because of it, or have a breakdown. He just didn't like it.

New Zealand wedged in, but asked, “Is this okay? Are you okay with this?”

“Yes,” Wales admitted, the word coming out like he was forcing out some shameful thing. He pressed his eyes against his knees, seeming to try to compact himself.

New Zealand wasn't sure if it really was okay, but Wales had said it was, and...what with his past, he deserved to have his yes and no listened to. New Zealand didn't wrap an arm or anything, instead started, quietly, “You know he only does this because he's a bastard with nothing else to make him feel good about himself, don't you?”

Wales snorted, saying in a small voice, “He's got—he's got a lot to feel good about. Monuments, internationally-recognized and loved cities, classics read the world over, a rich, full history and he's—he's touched every corner of the globe--”

“Okay, maybe,” New Zealand conceded, sighing a little. Damn it. He didn't see why England still needed to lord over Wales the way he did. “But he's still a bastard who gets off on power. You have to show him he doesn't have power over you.”

“He...doesn't.” Wales swallowed thickly. “He...I think he...just loves me and doesn't know how...to, um...”

Scotland let out a sigh—not quite a groan. “Here we go again. Wales, it isn't love if he hurts you. I know—I know he's twisted things--”

“He does,” Wales muttered, “He just...doesn't do it right. He's lonely, and he doesn't know how to get it from anywhere else. He...he scares me, but...”

New Zealand wanted to throttle England. “He can't hurt you. He won't. We won't let him.”

Scotland was silent, taking another long drag.

Wales shook his head, a sort of ashamed flush crawling up his cheeks. “It's—I know he—I think he won't. It's been a long time.” He swallowed hard again, and New Zealand realized he was near crying. “He...always said he loved me. England and Wales, that's us. Whether or not both of us wanted--” he stopped then, swallowing again, voice seeming to hitch.

“I know, boyo,” Scotland sighed, pulling Wales into a tighter hug. Still one armed, but he wasn't taking drags on his cigarette at the moment. He seemed used to this confused state.

“Maybe—maybe he only wants me to be better. To get better,” Wales said, a slightly desperate tone to his voice.

“No, Wales—he's a bastard and he's the one who did this to you! He has no right!” New Zealand said, feeling a fury build within him.

Scotland seemed to know what the next words out of Wales's mouth would be, and he spoke first. “You remember right, Wales. I promise that much. You remember. No matter what he says, it isn't how he says it was. That's bullshit. Whatever he says, it's bullshit and you need to shut your damn ears against him.”

New Zealand nodded along. “Just shut him out. He'll have to leave you alone.”

He might as well have said 'And magically cure yourself!' for the way Wales's eyes just shut, a hopeless air about him as he stayed curled into Scotland.

As if to say, 'I don't think I can do that. I don't think I can get better. It's been many years.'

But New Zealand would help. He would help Wales get better, not be so afraid all the time. He very gently took Wales's hand, prying open the gently held fist, and then locked pinkies with him. 

'It'll be okay,' was the promise.

He only hoped Wales understood the message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is okay. It's definitely a complex relationship between the countries and the peoples of the countries. Also, I believe that Wales feeling confused over what is reality is very much a part of England's hand in his life--but he is correct about England. He is lonely as fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America confronts England, and strategy is sort of discussed in a cafe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as delicately written as I could make it. Hope it pleases y'all.

America still couldn’t understand England. It was like slapping around a blind man, in his opinion, and it wasn’t like Wales was _blind_ , he understood that, it was just that he was a bit different. Maybe different in a way that America had never articulated. 

He knew there was lots of terms for it. He didn’t know which one was right. But he knew that Wales was probably supposed to be protected, kinda. Like he did for Canada.

Well, sort of. He wasn’t always the best to Canada, and Canada kept getting mad at him and telling him to mind his own business. But, at least he tried, right? It was the thought that counted most.

And as Ecuador, and then Kenya, spoke about the topic at hand (America wasn’t entirely paying attention), he found himself counting down the minutes to lunch. When there’d be a chance to talk when everyone wouldn’t shout at him for doing so.

Lunch came, and so America went.

He caught up to England, saying, “Hey! Let’s get lunch, you, me, and Canada!”

Canada made things automatically peaceable. He was very handy in that respect.

England huffed out a sigh. “I’m not going to one of your ridiculous, greasy, overly plastic lunch places. I’ve had enough of your ‘fast food’--it’s a fast way to clogged arteries and the grave, in my opinion.”

That insult slid off like water on a duck’s back—America knew England was bluffing. “Actually, you get to choose!”

This startled England enough that America had a moment to snag Canada and tell him England wanted to go to lunch with them, and soon enough, he had both semi-willing parties in a small cafe. Which was weird, because he was pretty sure that was Canada’s choice and not England’s, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Who would exactly want to look a horse in the mouth if they weren’t a vet anyway?

“You’re treating,” England informed America, and America shrugged it off.

“So, I heard this cafe has--” Canada started.

“England, we need to talk,” America told him. It was vital that he understood his behavior, at least in America’s opinion.

England rolled his eyes. “Oh, here we go again. What do you want to try to tell me now?”

“Actually, I think I need to use the restroom...” floated between them, but America was busy and Canada could wait until they were done to get out of the booth. It would just be a minute.

“Wales! He’s your brother, and you treat him like shit! And you have for a while--”

“Oh, please! Have you _ever_ treated any of your so-called brothers well? How about Canada? You attacked him viciously without provocation. How about Hawaii? You literally trapped someone in your house! How about Mexico, in too many ways to count--”

England was getting vicious, and they weren’t here to talk about America, so America cut in fast. “Whoa, we’re talking about Wales here!”

“Because we’re only focused on me, correct? Because if you only focus on my misdeeds and not your own, you can feel good about yourself,” England sneered, green eyes full of an anger that could cut through far too deep into America’s soul. “Good luck with that. We all have blood on our hands, and you’re not different.”

It was silent for a moment, and America swore he could have heard a spoon drop. One did.

“I have to go,” Canada murmured, managing to budge England. “I forgot I’m not in the mood for cafe food. Maybe something else.”

“I forgot that I wanted a burger,” America said quickly, and goddamnit, he actually did want one. It tasted good, and wasn’t weird Welsh or European food. It also didn’t taste like guilt.

“Enjoy your expanding waistline,” England sniped, and America knew he was wrong. He knew someone should say something.

But then, maybe they were still in that uncomfortable truce:

_I’ll turn a blind eye to you if you turn one to me._

America hurried out of the diner.

–

It was quiet now. Nations were heading out to lunch. Australia had found New Zealand, Wales, and Scotland squeezed into a closet together, and he’d helped them out of it. 

Wales was shifty, shy like some kicked puppy. Coaxing him to get lunch took everything Australia had.

He finally had, but the condition was that Wales didn’t want to see the other nations, so it meant going to a tiny hole in the wall cafe. The kind of place Australia wouldn’t think to look for.

The server readily signed with Wales, apparently knowing him, and he asked about Wales’s friends. He didn’t know they were family, sort of, despite their familial resemblance.

They were in their seats and sipping tea in no time. Australia was not really a big fan of tea, not quite as much as they were, but he was a fan of hanging around with these three, so he put up with it. 

“So. How’re you feeling now?” Australia asked Wales. “Nice to get some air and food.”

Wales nibbled half-heartedly on a biscuit, as if to prove he was eating, and simply nodded.

“When we get back, we have to make your case,” New Zealand said, “You’re the host of this conference, and they have no right to treat you like this. If you don’t get to speak, they might as well silence whatever small nation they please.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Scotland sighed.

Wales raised his eyebrows at Scotland.

“I’m not that dramatic. Not unnecessarily,” Scotland replied, rolling his eyes.

“What do you mean, being dramatic? It’s important! They can’t just take away his right to speak--” New Zealand was obviously upset. His forehead sometimes turned a little pink when he was upset.

Like it was right now.

“They’re not. They’re being assholes, but it is an actual rule,” Scotland pointed out. “It’s a fucking stupid use of the rule, but it’s not the same as taking away his actual right to speak.”

New Zealand deflated a little.

Wales pointed out, a little tentatively, that he was used to it anyway. It was okay.

“No, it’s not okay,” Scotland said, and his tone was tired, like he heard this a lot. Australia seemed to recall that Scotland was around Wales a lot more than they were now.

“Okay, how about we go in and demand that they let him use sign language. You’re a valid interpreter, they have no reason to--” 

“Again, Zea, your heart’s in the right place, but they can and have said he can’t use an interpreter. He can _technically_ speak, and that’s more than enough for the lot of them,” Scotland responded. “I still hope they catch fire and we have to piss on them to put them out, but their minds aren’t likely to change.”

“Austria was in a wheelchair,” New Zealand tried, “they had to make allowances then, right?”

“The world was still not a friendly place then,” Scotland replied, “Austria mostly fell out of world affairs. He rarely showed up to anything. There wasn’t much point, honestly, with how far the man had fallen.”

New Zealand was silent then.

Australia decided now was the best time to lighten the mood. “On the upside, if they won’t let you get an interpreter, you can use signs they already know, like this--”

“Stop making obscene gestures in public, we’re not in your home right now!” New Zealand snapped.

Wales was laughing, though, and assured them that the folks here were very aware of coarse language and gestures alike.

While Australia might have temporarily lightened the mood, he could still see the way that Scotland looked across the table at Wales.

It was melancholic. It was mildly hopeless. It was...it was something that Australia couldn’t identify.

All he could hope was that he didn’t go through enough things to have that same painful look when looking at New Zealand. At any point in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it is, I believe that almost any country in the world that attempts to call out another country or stop their evils is easily hampered by their own evils. I didn't want to get into too recent things, as that's a bit in bad taste. I am glad to talk about them, but I think a fanfic about them would be not so good.
> 
> Hawaii was and still is illegally occupied by the USA, among many others, and Mexico's been fucked over too many times to count. War of 1812 is referenced here as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Welsh history is not generally as extreme in terms of oppression as some colonies--but the oppression was definitely there. My explanation for his selective mutism is actually the whole outlawing Welsh thing--shit like the Welsh Not policy in English-speaking Welsh schools, where children were literally beaten and also coerced into turning on each other for speaking Welsh, in my opinion, could lead to selective mutism.
> 
> Basically, an inability to speak around people not perceived as 'safe.' It's a psychological thing, obviously, rather than a physical injury. England is, most importantly, not one of the 'safe' people, and so naturally, Wales just can't force out the words despite being physically capable. We'll get more into that in the next chapter. :)
> 
> Also, more pairing stuff'll show up in the next chapter as well, I believe! Honestly, I'm most focused on familial relationships, but eh.
> 
> Oh! And England's reference to shaming him is essentially the careless robbing of the resources from Wales for English gain. Yeah, the mine workers got paid, but it was a pittance and a miserable life in many ways, partially due to a lack of care for the miners' safety. They pulled a lot of shit regarding this and safety.
> 
> Anyway, hope to update very soon! I need to get to bed before my head dies. T.T


End file.
